


Ruined

by justwanderingneverlost



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon, F/M, R Plus L Equals J, Smut, Some Fluff, The Crypt Scene, tons of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwanderingneverlost/pseuds/justwanderingneverlost
Summary: What my angsty and Jonerys loving heart imagined from that three second crypt scene clip in the season eight trailer.





	Ruined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrostbitePanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostbitePanda/gifts).



> I had so many other things I needed to do besides this, but one of my besties had a birthday coming up and the trailer dropped giving us so much amazing Jonerys scenes to fangirl over, and my brain wouldn't hush, hence here we are. 
> 
> Soooooo, Happy Birthday, Frost!!! It's a day early, but hopefully you won't mind <3
> 
> Thanks to Ashleyfanfic for the loving nudges and quick beta job <3

 

 

 

It didn't take very long to find him despite not knowing his home well. She’d left Tyrion behind, deep in his cups, after he’d given her a few suggestions as to where her wayward king might have gone.

The crypts were much as she expected. Dark and dank. The air felt ancient, stale on her tongue, dry and choking at her throat, as if the breath of those long passed had filtered out of paper ash lungs, and stolen the cool precious air from above for themselves. Only the guttering glow of a few small torches throwing light upon the walls allowed her to see him. It reminded her of the cave they'd explored together back on Dragonstone. Her home.

Now, _their_ home.

Her eyes burned and blurred at the thought, just as they had for the past two hours.

_I am not alone. No longer am I the last. I have a family, a true one._

Daenerys Targaryen was a queen to some, a conqueror to others, the leader of many. For seven years she had suffered and struggled to fulfil her purpose. The only one she’d believed she had. That purpose had been within reach, at the very tip of her fingers when her eyes were opened, as well as her heart, the truth unfurling within her just as tender buds spread their petals to the warm sun in the spring.

One man had shown her more than she knew possible. Love, dreams, and nightmares alike. All held within eyes as dark and rich as treasured spices and a heart as noble as they come.

She would not cast aside the needs of their people, but neither would she the hopes and desires of her heart. He was the first of her family she had ever known to truly care for her. The only man who knew _her, loved her._ He had chosen her not for her title, nor her power, not even her beauty, but for who she was–the girl with a tender heart kept carefully hidden from the rest of the world.

It might be selfish, but she would not lose him.

If he heard her approach, he gave no sign of it, standing as still as the stone statues that filled the dark tombs around them. Jon brooded–was solemn and sober, more often than not. It was just who he was. Who could blame him considering the life he had led? And given the staggering secret that had been brought to light just a few short hours before, Dany was expecting more than his usual melancholy. But as she reached his side her stomach gave a pitching lurch, her heart trembling behind aching ribs–a frightened sparrow locked in a cage.

Sad was not what Jon was. That was too small and simple a word to describe her lover's face. His heart was lost, his truth dashed to ruins at his feet, leaving him anguished and adrift with no hope of rescue. She had never seen a soul more broken than he appeared.

His eyes and head lowered, turning toward her slightly, but he would not look at her, still trapped by his torment. She removed her glove and gently cupped his cheek, turning his sweet face to hers. The dampness that met her touch was a lethal blade piercing her chest. The tear that slipped free as his eyes fell closed at her caress was no better.

Though she feared his rejection, the want to hold him was more than she could bear and she had him wrapped in her arms before she could think better of it.

“Jon,” she breathed, fearing if she spoke with any more force he would tear himself from her embrace. “I'm so sorry.”

His throat clicked, but he made no other sounds, nor movements, save resting his head against her own. His arms did not encircle her, leaving her grasping his ridgid form. She held him tightly, wishing with all she was she could absorb his pain.

Too soon he pulled away, sending black thorns of fear tumbling within her stomach. She let him retreat, determined to hang onto hope. That he allowed her touch at all was a comfort to her anxious nerves.

“What can I do?”

“Turn back time?” he croaked, the jest bitter and bleak, no response expected. He drew in a shuddering breath and held onto it for a time before letting it out in a heavy rush. “All I ever wanted was to know, for him to tell me about her. If she was dead or alive, loved me at all. Now I wish I had never wondered.”

“Why?” The question slipped free before she could stop it. She bit her tongue and cursed herself.

He turned harsh eyes on her, throwing an accusing hand toward the effigy of the man he'd called father. “Because now I know the man I trusted most, lied to me, all my life,” he bit out, something close to hatred burning in his onyx eyes. “He could've told me, Dany. Not made me suffer the uncertainty. Kept his lady wife from hatin’ my guts. I could've known I was at least wanted if nothin’ more.”

“For how long?”

His sneer was cutting, she could almost feel it's sting. _“What?”_

She did not want to hurt him further, but he needed to see reason to overcome the pain. “For how long do you think you could have kept the secret?” she asked gently. “How long would you have stayed living and breathing, here in your home, safe from Robert's assassins?”

He drew back, spine stiff and nostrils flared, lush mouth pinched tight. His pain was hers, an iron bolt embedding itself within her chest. She shook with the need to reach out to him, to hold him, but she clasped her hands together to keep herself from it. He wasn't ready for more.

She licked at her dry lips and took a steadying breath. “I would never claim my path was more wretched than yours, Jon, just as I know you would never claim yours was over mine. You're angry and you have every right to be. I'm angry for you. But you must see if he hadn't kept his secret, you wouldn't be here. Perhaps none in this castle would be.”

The animosity left him as quickly as a candle flame being snuffed out, the weight of misery cloaking him again. “I know that. Doesn't make it any easier to accept.”

He heaved a great breath and turned away. Whatever apology she had been about to give stayed locked behind her clenched teeth as he walked further into the crypts. She followed him, a step or two behind. His gait was slow, as if someone had chained millstones around his ankles and he was struggling to drag the great burden. He stopped when he reached his mother's statue, his precious face turned up to hers. The look upon it tore at Dany's soul, the grief and gratefulness woven together…

Her vision became so thick with tears it was as if she were seeing him from beneath the surface of a running stream, but she would not look away. While she could not bare his pain for him, she could bare it with him.

He stood silent so long her body began to protest, muscles and joints crying out for her to move. She carefully closed the distance between them, but did not touch him, though she ached to do so. She wanted to whisk him away on Drogon, to fly far–to someplace safe and free of threats and burdens. For it to be just the two of them, where she could spend days and nights soothing his scars, healing his hidden wounds. To bring the precious smile she loved so dearly back to his sweet face.

“Jon,” she whispered, “talk to me, let me help. You cannot let this fester.”

He shook his bowed head, his breathing jagged and ruined. He looked up, obsidian eyes tear filled and tormented, swimming with an immense and unfathomable agony, begging for her help. He was drowning beneath it all, right before her eyes, and she gasped from the force of it, heart breaking into a thousand biting shards, terrified she would not be able to save him from it.

“I'm not…” he husked, nearly choking, “I'm so lost, I can't–” he turned away, scrubbing a shaking hand down his face before going still again, his gaze on the dirt beneath their boots, shoulders slumped from the oppressive truth that had been laid upon them, “After they murdered me and I woke up…” his voice was wrecked, weak as a dying man's. “It’s the same. There's so much, yet nothin’ at all. I don't know what to feel,” he gasped, a ragged sob tearing free.

She could not refrain another moment and took him back in her arms. This time he clung to her as if she were the only thing keeping him in the world. He tucked his wet face into her neck and cried, and she cried with him, holding him as tightly as her strength allowed, her fingers stroking through the thick curls at his nape–anything to give him any sort of comfort.

How much time passed, she didn't know, nor did she care, but eventually the storm within him spent itself. He gave one last shudder and a heaving breath before releasing it against her neck and pulling away.

“I doesn’t matter what they said,” he told her, anger now laced in his tone as he swiped a hand roughly across one eye then the other, “or what they think I am… I don't want it.”

She gave a shake of her head, the movement leaden. “I know,” she murmured, gently wiping more tears from his face as best she could before reaching for his hand. The crushing pressure at her chest eased when he did not pull away but wove his fingers between her own instead. “I am not concerned with any of that,” she assured him as she rubbed her thumb over his.

“Why?” he croaked, focused on their hands, seeming to fade in and out of existence before her like a spirit wandering between worlds he was so very lost within the pain.

“Because it's not important. Not right now.”

The words sank in after a moment and his head rose, eyes clouded and narrowed in question. “After all you've worked for? The queen I know would not dismiss a threat.”

She smiled, a small thing, and dared to stroke his cheek, to feel the familiar tease of his beard against her fingertips. “You forget, Jon Snow, I know your heart. The only threat you pose to me is breaking mine.” His eyes fell closed, torment flashing across his brow as he swallowed deeply.

She let him go, turning to gaze at Lyanna's visage, a cover to allow her time to choke down the cold, twisting fear that threatened to rise up and take her. It was time to steer them in a different direction before they plummeted off the encroaching cliff too soon.

“I suppose some might say I should be angry,” she tried, “perhaps burn you alive to keep you from taking it from me.”

His eyes found her again, she felt their heat upon her skin. “You could. I may even ask it of you.”

It could have been another bitter jest, but something in her knew there was a grain of truth in those last words. She whipped her head around and stared daggers at him, the thought so abhorrent the dragon within her roared in outrage. “I won't.” He pressed his lips together, shrinking into himself even more than he had been at her acrid tone. Guilt laden, she went on, but much softer than before, squeezing his hand gently. “I would never. You know that, don't you?”

He nodded, the tiniest hint of relief etched in the smooth plains of his face. His thumb grazed her knuckles. “Aye, I do.”

His eyes turned once more to his mother. Only their stuttering breath and the crackle of the torches could be heard, time seeming to stretch into an endless eternity around them. Dany wondered if it might swallow them whole and how she might let it.

“How do I become something different?” he asked, startling her. “Someone else?” The questions were so quiet, so small, as if he had become a young boy asking for approval–desperate for it–yet fearing, and almost certain, he would be scolded instead.

Her heart broke for him for the countless time that night. “Who said you had to?” she asked softly.

He released a hoarse breath and let her go, ripping his gloves off in a fit of frustration. “Aegon Targaryen, Jon Snow… _Stark_ ,” he threw the names out as if they were rank and soured meat. “Who am I supposed to be now? How do I choose?”

She turned to him and took his hands in hers, hoping to ease the fire flaming up inside him before it could consume him. “There’s no need to be anyone else but who you are. You don't _need_ to choose,” she told him firmly yet sure to pour all the love she possessed for him into the declaration. “You are Jon Snow; a Stark, _and_ a Targaryen.”

He chuffed, a sad smile pulling at his full lips as he shook his head. “How do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Use my own words against me.”

She tilted her head, curious. “When have I done so?”

“The first day I met you, in the cave at Dragonstone… now here.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, and ran her fingers through the lush fur at his neck. The heat of his body had warmed it. She wanted to burrow into the softness, to fill her senses with him. His dark eyes watched her, black and burning, setting her blood alight as they always did. She met them, praying to gods she didn't believe in he could see the thoughts of her heart, would hear the words she couldn't say. “We have been mostly of one mind from the beginning I believe.”

His face went soft, hopeless and sweet. “Aye.”

She squeezed his hand, grounding herself, decision made. It was time to leap off that metaphorical cliff. She could stand the wait no longer. “Jon, I need you to listen to me.” His nod was almost imperceptible, eyes darting nervously away. Her heart tripped up behind her ribs, but she gave his fingers a small tug, pulling his eyes back to hers. “Despite what we know now… nothing has changed for me,” she whispered, “I love you, still. If anything, knowing only makes me love you more.”

His head twisted, grief furrowed heavy between his brows, his beautiful dark eyes shown liquid in the flickering light as they stared back at her, stricken and struggling. “We cannot.”

She stepped closer and laid a hand over his heart. “We already do,” she breathed. He dropped his head, his throat worked, but she would not let him pull away. Could not. “Look at me Jon and tell me you no longer love me.”

“Dany… please,” he begged, voice so devastating her knees nearly buckled.

She grew desperate, lost control of her restraint and ignored his plea, rushing onward. “Tell me you possess the power to stem this tide that lies between us, Jon. The one that’s drawn us together and holds us captive, because I do not. If you think you can break free from it without leaving your heart behind in tattered pieces, tell me how. I'll need to know so I can go forward with you no longer by my side and not die of heartache.”

He wrenched his hand free of her clinging grasp and walked away, further into the crypts. He may as well have cut her heart from her chest. Her breath had snagged upon the knot in her throat, no air reached her lungs, her eyes burned furiously–she had never felt so shattered. But then he stopped, hands rising up and gripping his head and a great strangled roar echoed off the crumbling walls and into her very bones.

She pressed her hand over her mouth to contain her cry, but there was no hope of slowing her tears.

His flare of temper and torture apparently over, Jon spun around and stalked back toward her, brow dark and scowling, fists clenched at his sides, cloak billowing behind him. He looked as fierce as she’d ever seen him. “Dany, we can—”

But she cut across him with no thought and little care. “I won't do it, Jon, I cannot,” she gasped. Fear had taken her heart into its clutches, claws digging deep, turning everything within her as black and tragic as Drogon's gaping maw.

He was back before her again and pulled her flush against him, but the words wouldn't stop spilling from her lips. “You’ve become the very air in my lungs, the blood in my veins,” she went on in a choking whisper, grabbing the straps of his cloak and shaking him. “Set me aside if you must, you stubborn fool, but know that wherever you go, whatever you do, my heart is buried next to yours.”

Her face was in his hands before the last word left her. His lips crashed into hers, stealing all thought, filling her with a sudden fire, burning all else away save him. She drank him in as if he were the sweetest wine, desperate to wash away the pain, to leave them flushed and wasted on some distant shore.

A whimper tore from her throat when he ripped his mouth away, pressing his forehead to hers. “I could never set you aside Daenerys,” he panted, harsh and heaving, as if he'd been battling his greatest foe for hours, and perhaps he had. “Others take me, but blood or no, you're my every dream. I will love you till my last breath.”

Something akin to a sob, a choking laugh erupted from her and she took his lips for her own, kissing him, pouring out every ounce of love she felt for him while tears streamed hot down her cheeks. He took all she gave and returned it tenfold until they were both left wrestling for air.

“Jon, I need you,” she gasped, her clutch to him uncontrolled.

“Aye, and I you, but not here,” he grunted against her lips and pulled away, taking her by the hand and dragging her behind him as he strode down the dark corridor.

She managed to keep pace with him, up the stairs and out into the frigid winter air filling the courtyard. Even it did nothing to cool the liquid heat pooling within her belly and deeper still.

His need must have been as great as hers for he snatched her up, swinging her into his arms, his brisk pace never faltering. She didn't ask where he was taking her, continuing to kiss him instead, every inch of skin she could reach, fingers busy freeing his luscious curls from their knot. She trusted he knew his home well, certain to know the quickest place they could lock themselves away.

And soon they were. A door squealed open and clicked closed as she took hungry mouthfuls along his corded neck, the scent and taste of him–smoke and sweat and snow–spinning her senses and making her feel light as air.

Gravel crunched under his boots, a rich petrichor aroma tickled her nose, both drawing her from her pleasing task. She took in their hiding place, shocked to see they were surrounded by greenery and glass, bright shafts of moonlight casting it all in a blue glow.

“Where are we?” she whispered. So many plants, the smells and sights, the _warmth_ leaving her in awe. How was this riot of life hidden away in the frozen land he called home?

“The glass gardens,” he answered as he sat her down upon her feet and quickly rid himself of his cloak.

“Jon, this is wondrous, how is it possi—”

He kissed her hard, taking her breath for his own once more then lifted her up under her arms and gently plopped her onto a table. “How about I tell you later?” he husked, leaning around her. The scraping and clattering of pottery filled the quiet space, and he was gently pushing her down onto her back a moment later.

She watched him–plush lips parted, red and swollen from their kisses, pale cheeks flushed, inky curls flowing and framing his face as he bent to his work of loosening the laces of her riding britches. He was resolute in his quest to have her, and so beautiful her chest ached at the sight of him all while her need boiled to a fever pitch beneath her skin.

Then he stood back, gripping the waist of her britches and yanked, a yelp escaping her as he stripped her of the soft suede and her small clothes with them, her arse bouncing off the table from the force of it. But he’d forgotten to rid her of her boots. She nearly giggled at his curse of frustration, though soon enough he had her freed from the restraints and she was the one cursing.

He’d taken her thighs in hand and spread them–none too gently–and his dark head bowed over her. The scalding heat of his tongue swiped through her from cleft to clit and she came up off the table with a muffled cry, bottom lip held firmly between her teeth.

She sat up, delving her hands into his hair and tugging. She was far too sensitive for such attentions. He growled against her in protest, and a shudder ran through her at the sensation, but he rose up, doing her silent bidding.

“Things are quite unfair,” she murmured, soothing him with kisses as she pulled him flush between her spread thighs. Jon grunted and gripped her hips, grinding himself against her. “I want to touch you too, but all these godsforsaken layers are stopping me. Get them off,” she hissed, tugging at leather and straps to no avail as his warm lips and bristling beard tormented her neck, a pair of talented fingers driving her to utter distraction below. “I swear when all this is done, we're going as far south as we can,” she sighed, nearly breathless, “and wearing nothing save silks so I never need wait to have your skin next to mine.”

The noise he made was somewhere between a chuckle and a lustful grunt. He stepped back, leaving her spinning in a salacious daze and pulled his dragonglass blade free from his belt, flipping it deftly in his fingers and presenting it to her handle first. “Care to do the honors?”

He'd kissed her stupid, so much so the only responding thought was a heinous and unthinkable act and her face must have shown it for Jon laughed and placed the dragger in her hand. “My laces, love. Cut me free.”

“Oh,” she sputtered, “of course.” She carefully sliced through the strings of leather, one layer, then the next, the last thing she wanted was to cut him. The dagger was quickly discarded once she'd finished, hands itching to touch his newly bared skin.

Reacquainting herself with his marbled torso, pale and perfect, her hands and lips and tongue mapped each ripple and plain, as he worked to open her coat. Her dragon chain went first, reverently removed despite his hurry. His careful attentions stopped there, the sides of her coat thrown open and her sheath ripped asunder to get at her breasts, cool and calloused hands palming them, rough fingers and thumbs pinching nipples.

Through the dizzying daze she spied a bench behind him, and a pleasing idea floated through her head. She pushed him back and stood, quick to soothe his worry. “Over there,” she told him, pointing toward the wooden bench beneath a lovely little tree. “Sit and let me have my way with you.”

He took to her offer well, pulling her with him as he backed up, his hands and lips never straying from her skin. She busied herself with loosening his leathers, his stiff cock freed and heavy in her palm by the time they reached the bench. His eyes fell closed, head back, fingers dug into her hips as she stroked him. She pushed him down and straddled him. Unwilling to wait and his cock still in hand she lined herself up and sunk down, both of them gasping and groaning.

So full, so perfect, and already so close to falling, she rode him, recklessly, mindless to all save him and the tulmet between them. His hands were everywhere, gripping and grasping at her hips, encouraging her pace. His searing mouth fed on her breasts, suckled at her nipples, pulling mewls and whimpers from her throat. Then his thumb found her clit, circled it over and over until she lost herself, burning into a thousand sparks glittering across an onyx sky.

Jon brought her back to herself with a breath stealing kiss, hips grinding up into hers, black eyes urgent and greedy. He needed to lose himself just as she had done.

Pushing herself up, hands braced on his chest, she stumbled to her feet, drawing a stormy scowl from him, but grasped his wrists and pulled. He rose up as she laid herself down onto the soft ground just beside them, her coat providing more cushion. He looked appalled. She smiled and reached a hand out for him. “Come to me, Jon.”

He wasted no time, dropping himself down between her willing thighs. He was buried to the hilt a moment later, taking her in one vicious thrust. She screamed and clung to him, a dragon riding the windy waves of his storm, going wherever he decided to take her. His body strained and trembled above her as he drove into her time and time again, his grunts and groans helping to send her spinning toward another zenith. He was there with her, hands clenched in her hair, muscles taut, hips snapping. Her name was a gasp across her ear and he swelled within her, hurling them both into another space free of anything save themselves and the blissful pleasure their bodies had created.

They collapsed as one, reduced to ashes, lungs fighting for air, limbs giving one last shudder before falling limp. The journey back is blissfully slow, soft touches and gentle kisses, given and taken, murmured moans and sighs breathed across flushed skin.

Eventually he eased his weight off of her and propped up on his elbows, staring down at her. He immediately shook his head, a fretful frown darkening his face as he rubbed a thumb across her cheek, once, then twice more.

“What is it?” she whispered, stroking a fingertip over his silky brow.

“I got dirt on you,” he muttered and heaved a sigh. “What kind of man fucks his queen into the dirt? Messes and mucks her up like she's no better than some village whore.”

Her heart clenched and she smiled up at him gently, tucked some curls behind his ear. “The kind that loves her enough to listen to her wants. Did you forget so soon I was the one who pulled you down here?”

“I do love you, Daenerys,” he proclaimed, ignoring her question, such a rasp to his voice she shivered beneath him. “More than I can even comprehend. I'm sorry I made you fear I didn't.”

“I love you too, so much it hurts,” she whispered, slipping a hand around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. “And you didn't. I only feared you'd find some way to box it up and put it aside. You are stubborn like that,” she attempted to tease.

His soft seriousness never swayed. “I'd have to cut my heart out to manage that,” he croaked, “and even then I'm not sure it would work.”

“I hope you never decide to try,” she breathed, the backs of her fingers sliding down his cheek.

“I won't, not unless you do first.”

She shook her head. “That is one thing you never need fear. I love you beyond reason, right or wrong. My heart is yours until my last day,” she vowed.

He kissed her, plump lips taking slow drawing tastes from her own, her head caught between his hands, never letting her stray. But soon they needed air and despite her declaration, and the devotion of his kiss, she could see the torment creeping back into his mind and heart. His eyes had grown distant, his brow pinched and brooding.

“Stay here with me, Jon,” she whispered, cupping his face, thumbs brushing over cheekbones. “We must stay together, remember?”

The smile he gave her was faint, but tender. “Aye. A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing after all,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, nose and lips ghosting over sensitive skin.

A queer feeling swelled in her chest, as if her heart had flipped over. To hear him speak of himself as a dragon, as family… It filled her with so many emotions she couldn't begin to name them. She willed her tears to cease, took a steadying breath. “Is that your own wisdom, or did you hear it elsewhere?” she asked softly, proud her voice did not shake.

His fingers rubbed through her hair. “I surely believe it now, but it was your…” he closed his eyes and sighed, “ _our_ uncle Aemon,” he corrected. “Overheard him say it once, to Sam. He was speaking of you.”

The strange stirring spread throughout her, a tear finally slipped free. She did not care. “I wonder how he knew,” she inhaled, weak and wrecked, “I've never heard truer words.”

“Now that I know, neither have I.”

She gripped his face, stared into his depthless eyes. “I promise you, Jon, no matter what happens, you'll never be alone again.”

He gathered her close, cupping her head in his palm and tucking her face into his neck, his own resting against her shoulder, hot puffs of air fanning across it. “Neither will you,” he whispered, as overwrought as she was. “I swear it. I’m ruined for all else save you.”

He kissed along her shoulder and up her throat to her face.

She was smiling by the time he reached her lips. “My wolf, my dragon,” she breathed against his.

“Whichever you need,” he promised.

She pulled back, fingers sliding into the curls at his nape. “I need my King, just as he's always been.”

“Then you shall have him.”


End file.
